


Punishment

by storytellerof221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fear, Friendship, M/M, Scars, Torture, aftermath of abuse, mental and physical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26713102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellerof221b/pseuds/storytellerof221b
Summary: Sherlock has insulted everyone while being at Scotland Yard because of a crime he has solved. Several people were very upset and even crying. Greg finally decides he has to do something.Sherlock simply leaves them all behind and was happy to return home to John.John though isn't pleased. He doesn't want to hear about Sherlock's deductions. Instead he expects an explanation for his behaviour. Sherlock is disappointed and doesn't understand.Then John tells him that Greg wants to inform Mycroft, Sherlock's brother. And Sherlock's reaction is very strange...
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 18





	1. New Scotland Yard

Sherlock had insulted everybody in the room. Starting with Lestrade down to the poor man only delivering the mail. He told everybody who wanted or didn’t want to hear how incompetent they were and why. Who was having sex with whom and whose husbands and wives were shagging whom. When he was done, he looked around very pleased, snorted at them and left dashing out of the room.

Lestrade looked around at his people. A few newbies were sobbing quietly. He stood with his fists on his hips thinking about a way to defeat this man, to take vengeance. To punish him for what he did.   
He had no right to do what he had done. Even though he helped with the crimes and they would have been lost without him most of the time. Lestrade thought he might have to talk to his older brother Mycroft. He had met him before. He told him he was constantly worried about his little brother. He gave him his card and told him to call if he needed his help. Lestrade knew now was the time.  
But first he would start with calling John. He knew he would be helping in this matter; he was sure of that. He was suffering, too. He was Sherlock’s flatmate but he was insulted, mistreated, and pushed around, too.

***

Sherlock dashed out of the meeting room where he had deduced each and every single being in there. He didn’t understand though why they had been crying. He shrugged. Now he just wanted to go home to John and spend a nice evening. Perhaps he would even drink a glass of wine. Or share a tumbler of Lagavulin with John.

He never was looking forward to coming home before. But since he was introduced to John things had changed. He had liked him from the moment he saw him. He was an army doctor, experienced fighter, and a fantastic marksman. He was also wonderfully muscled with a beautiful physique and funny.

Sherlock hailed a cab and soon the car was racing down the streets of London to get rid of him again as soon as possible. When he reached home, he looked up to their windows. A warm flare was behind the glass and the curtains were half-closed. He smiled and opened the door. Mrs Hudson wasn’t in since he couldn’t hear her TV. The door upstairs was open and he stepped inside. With one move he shrugged out of his coat and hung it up on a hook at the door. His scarf went the same way.

“John?” He called because he couldn’t see him but he could hear the radio playing. He walked into their kitchen where he found John leaning against the counter just lowering his mobile. Their eyes met and Sherlock at once saw he was upset. He looked questioningly at him but he wouldn’t talk. Sherlock felt the urgent need for something to drink. Something stronger than tea. Then he heard John whisper:

“What did you do today, Sherlock?” He straightened up and proudly answered:

“I solved the case, of course.” John sighed.

“Yes, so I have heard. What else?” Sherlock had no idea what John was talking about.

“I told them everything they needed to know about the case. Then I left and came home to you.” He shyly smiled but John didn’t react.

“You haven’t only told them everything they needed to know about the case. You have also told them everything else. Things they didn’t want to know or even to hear in front of friends and colleagues. You insulted them, Sherlock! You made them suffer and cry!”

“They were staring at me and I had to say something!” Now he looked hurt.

“You just can’t do that! Greg was really upset! He wants to call Mycroft.” Sherlock’s eyes widened.

“No, he can’t do that!” He looked shocked and now it became interesting.

“Of course, he can. And he will.” Sherlock’s fingers began to tremble. John was wondering if he was afraid of his older brother. But Sherlock being afraid?

“Please, John, you have to help me!” He stepped up to John and tried to touch him but John wouldn’t have any of it.

“No. You misbehaved and you have to cope with it.” Sherlock looked down on the floor and thought about it. He needed John to help him. He had to talk to him about this. He hadn’t done it before because he thought it was too early in their living together. But now it was overdue. He would make him understand, he just had to.

“Are you going out tonight?” He quietly asked. Surprised John looked up at him. What did he want?

“No, I don’t. I don’t have a date and I don’t feel like going out alone.” Sadly, Sherlock looked at him and thought:

 _“I could go with you. I would buy you a drink or two. You won’t be alone.”_ But he didn’t say it out loud. Instead, he sighed and asked:

“Would you like to drink a glass of wine and a Lagavulin with me? At home?”

 _“Wow!”_ John thought looking at Sherlock.

 _“Where did that come from? Does he want to talk?”_ He nodded and said:

“Yes, I would like that. Thank you. I will make a fire. Why don’t you bring everything there?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock felt better now. John wasn’t angry with him. But there was something. He could feel it. He opened the bottle of wine and took two glasses from the very back of the cupboard. He also took the bottle of Lagavulin and cleaned two glasses. He put everything on a wooden tray and carried it over to their armchairs in front of the fire. He saw John looking at him. These blue eyes really made him self-conscious. He had no idea why. He poured their drinks and sat down, too.

“Thank you.” That made him smile again. He felt a bit better now. Perhaps he should talk about it with John. Find out, what was going on in John’s mind. He decided it was a good thing to do.

“John, about today …” He sipped the wine.

“Yes?” So did John. Sherlock swallowed; his throat was dry all of a sudden.

“It was self-defence.” John raised an eyebrow.

“What was?”

“What I did today.” John leant back in his armchair. Curiously he watched him fidgeting around in his own.

“Would you please explain to me how you insulting people just turned into self-defence?”

“They want my help. They need me to solve their lost cases. They hate me for it. They call me names behind my back. Freak’s here, they say. They think I am insane. They think I have no feelings. That I don’t feel. But that’s not true, John.”

“I know it's not true, Sherlock. But just tell me one thing. Why are you afraid of Greg telling your brother?” Sherlock looked down again. He swallowed and couldn't look at John. John waited for some minutes until he asked:

“Please tell me, Sherlock? Why?” Now he was turning the glass in his hands. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were slightly parted.

“I don't want Mycroft to know because he will punish me.” John looked surprised.

“Punish you? How?” Sherlock sadly smiled.

“Like he always did. Does.” Their eyes met again. John saw his fear and decided.

“I won't let him hurt you.” Said one still sadly smiled.

“What could you possibly do?”

“I will call Greg to see if he already called your brother. If he hasn’t, I will tell him not to.”

“Why would you do that?” Sherlock really wondered and John just looked back.

“Because I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want to see your eyes filled with fear.” He shook his head and Sherlock could just watch.

“I don't know what to say ...” John turned away and murmured:

“Then don't.” And he called Lestrade walking away into their kitchen.

***

John had just called before Lestrade wanted to call Mycroft. He talked to him. He begged him not to. Greg wanted to talk about it personally. He gave in to meet him the next morning in his office. But he wouldn't call Mycroft now. John was glad. Greg was suspicious though.

“Why do you try to talk me out of calling his brother, John?”

“You have to trust me, Greg. Please? I will tell you but not on the phone.”

“I do trust you, John. Most of all people. You are good for him. I know you are calling me because of him. Just let me know, OK?”

“I will. I promise.” They hung up. John pocketed his mobile and sighed heavily. Then he turned to Sherlock but found the sofa empty. He hadn't noticed him leave. Now he was getting angry. He listened in to the flat but couldn't hear a sound.  
He moved over to his bedroom. His door was closed. John was a very polite person, that was why he bothered to knock. There was no reply. John turned the handle and stepped inside. He found Sherlock in his bed. The duvet was covering him completely. He was hidden beneath it.

“Sherlock? I know you are not asleep! Don't act like a child!” He saw him flinch. He knew him and that's why he waited patiently. And after a few minutes the duvet was lifted up and Sherlock peered out from beneath. He looked desperate.

“I thought you might want to know that I just talked to Greg.” He saw him lick over his lips and swallow. But he didn't reply.

“He hadn't called your brother yet. But he wants to know why I made him not to. I will meet him tomorrow morning and I have to tell him something. So, you better tell me now.” He crossed his arms over his chest and just stood there. Sherlock sat against the headrest and wouldn't look at him. But he started to talk.

“I told you Mycroft would punish me due to my bad behaviour. And I am not talking about cutting off my money. I am talking about corporal punishment.” His fingers were moving over the duvet.

“What?” His statement made him move closer to Sherlock.

“What did you just say?”

“I just told you that my brother will punish me. He will bend me over his lap and spank me. He will cane me until bloody welts will be forming. He will brutally tie me up and gag me, stuck a rather large plug inside me and put a cock-ring on me. Then he will just leave me behind so I can think about everything. Oh, and if I am really lucky, he will give me a spiced enema before and force me to drink a lot after he tied me up so I would have to piss myself later on.” John could just stare at Sherlock. He could not believe the words he just heard. Now he sat beside him on the bed and lifted up his chin.

“You are not lying to me, Sherlock, are you?” He looked into his eyes, still full of fear.

“No, you aren't. I can see it.” He moved his thumb over his cheekbone and he sighed and closed his eyes. John felt him relax.

“I will tell Greg something.”

“Thank you...” John let go of his face and was about to get up when Sherlock just grabbed his wrist.

“I never told anyone about it.”

“Never?”

“No. Before Mycroft, my mother did these things to me. She hit me with a brush when I was a child.”

“Jesus, Sherlock, I don't know what to say.” Sadly, Sherlock looked up at him.

“You listening is enough.” He still held on to his wrist.

“Please, don't go away. Don't leave me alone now, please? Stay with me for a while, only a minute, please? Please, John?” John saw that he was about to start crying and he couldn't leave. This man was his friend. This man trusted him enough to reveal a horrible truth. He toed off his shoes and climbed into Sherlock’s bed. Sherlock smiled and relaxed a bit more.

“I will stay with you, don't worry. I want you to relax and try to sleep now, OK?” He nodded and rested his head on the pillow. John pulled the duvet over both of them and rested on his elbow looking down at Sherlock.

“Try to sleep, Sherlock. Close your eyes. I will be here.” And Sherlock closed his eyes. John moved a bit closer and put his arm around his chest. His head rested under his shoulder and he could smell him, his exclusive shampoo, his cologne, his fear, everything.

John thought about the conversation they had before Sherlock fell asleep. John knew he had to protect Sherlock. And he would, no matter what. Fuck the British government.

He had spooned Sherlock and felt him come down. He had never been that close to another man before, not like this. Not even in the camps outside in the Afghan desert and not in the bunks. He wasn't gay, for God's sake. He was just protecting, so he told himself.

He could feel his own arousal though. He was being in bed with Sherlock. He felt the heat crawl up and he was half-hard already.

Sherlock’s body was limp, he was sleeping. John's hand on his chest wandered slowly down his body until it reached his belly button. Sherlock murmured something in his sleep but he didn't wake up. He moved around a bit though and his back was pressed against John. He pulled him a bit closer and his erection now pressed against his bum. This felt a bit too good.


	2. Revealing Everything

When John woke the next morning, he looked right into Sherlock’s eyes.

“You really stayed. You didn't leave me.” He seriously stared down at him.

“I promised you, Sherlock. I am here for you.”

“Are you still angry with me?”

“No, not anymore.”

“Do you want me to tell Greg, too?”

“I don't want you to do anything. Not unless you want it, too.” Sherlock shook his head.

“No, I don't.”

“That's fine then. I will go and talk to Greg now.” Sherlock sighed.

“Don't worry. I will be back as soon as possible.” Sherlock’s eyes followed John when he left his bedroom and went upstairs to gather his clothes and shower. But then he got up and tried to make breakfast for John. He managed the tea but failed with the rest. The toast was burnt and the eggs fell from his trembling hands. He leant against the counter with his eyes closed. His lips quivered and tears ran down over his cheekbones. That's how John found him.

“Sherlock, what's wrong? What happened? Did you hurt yourself?” He didn't answer him. He couldn't concentrate on forming proper sentences. His mind was fuzzy. He made weird noises. He sort of knew he had revealed his biggest secret. Mycroft would be very angry. He would hurt him badly. He was terrified.

“Sherlock? Answer me!” John grabbed his upper arms and shook him. And then he snapped and started to thrash wildly. He screamed until his voice was barely audible. John just held him in a firm grip and just endured being hit and kicked from time to time.

Sherlock’s eyes rolled back in his head and he sank down on his knees letting out low keening noises. John stroked over his head and let his fingers move through his hair. He listened to his ragged breathing and knew he couldn't leave him alone.

He threw his long limbs over his shoulder and carried him back into his bedroom. He wouldn't react to anything. He was shaking all over and his teeth were clattering. John got his kit out of his room and drew up some meds to sedate him. When Sherlock was deep under, John phoned Greg.

“John? What's up?” John's voice was shaky when he said:

“Greg, please, could you come here? I can't leave Sherlock alone. Please?”

“What happened, John? Has he been attacked? Are you two alright?”

“No, no, no attack. It's different. Could you come, please?”

“Jesus, John, you sound, I don't know, not good. I am on my way.”

“Thank you.” John ended the call and saw his shaking hands. Also, his leg hurt again. He would be limping soon.

And he knew he had to tell Greg. He knew him and he also knew that he and Sherlock had a past. John knew about Sherlock’s addiction and how Greg had found him in the drug den. Close to death. Perhaps his drug addiction had had reasons.  
He went back into Sherlock’s room and found him unmoving. Only his pupils were moving beyond the lids and his fingers were twitching.  
John sat on the bed and moved some hair off his forehead.

“Don't worry, Sherlock. I am here. I am not leaving. Do you hear me?” Sherlock let out a pained noise which almost broke John's heart.

John carefully moved him on his front and shoved up his tee. And there they were, scars all over his back. Very old ones and rather new ones. Probably not older than two weeks. John felt hate, pure, white hate. Nobody had tended to his injuries. And he hadn't told John, hadn't asked him for help. He had hid behind his mask and endured the pain.

Carefully he pulled the t-shirt back down and held back his tears. Standing in their living room he pressed his hand over his mouth and exhaled loud and shakily.

Then it knocked on their door. It must be Greg. John opened it and let him in.

“John? What the fuck happened? Are you crying?” Only now John registered the tears running down his face.

“Greg, I don't know what to do. It's Sherlock. I ask you to trust me with this. I can't tell you the truth because I promised Sherlock not to. I am not holding back anything illegal. At least not in the sense of your job illegal. I am only asking for your trust and help in this matter.”

“You know, I would always help him. I pulled him out of the ditches once before. I never regretted it, not really. I would do it again and again. He is my friend.”

“Did you ever tell him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you ever tell him you are his friend, that you consider him one?”

“No, I mean, he is Sherlock. He doesn't care.”

“Look behind his armour, Greg. I did. He is the loneliest person I have ever met.”

“You make me feel like a bad person.” John blew his nose and looked at him.

“I need to know more about the relationship between Sherlock and his brother Mycroft.”

“Why?”

“Just tell me.” Greg considered everything and looked again at John's blotchy face. He had to have a serious reason for this. Also, Greg considered his own feelings. He had never liked Mycroft. He was a control freak and always after his brother. Back then, when he had found an almost drugged to death Sherlock, he had thought he'd met the most caring brother. But when he watched Sherlock being taken away by him and looked into his eyes, he had wondered if he had done the right thing.

And then he told John about it. He told him about Mycroft having control over his brother. That he had installed cameras everywhere he went.

“You are telling me there are cameras here, Greg?” He shrugged.

“Probably yes.” John looked shell-shocked.

“We have to get rid of them. We have to find them. No, it's too late.”

“Why are you upset, John? What the fuck happened?” John bit his lower lip and looked at Greg.

“We have to hide Sherlock.”

“What? Hide him from what?”

“Hide him from whom.”

“Mycroft?” John nodded and seriously looked Greg into his eyes.

“He has scars, Greg. He has scars all over his back. Old and new. That's all I am going to tell you. You have to trust me.”

“I feel horrible for not having seen his trouble. God, John.” He rubbed over his forehead.

“Do you know anyone who would help us?”

“The only person I could think of is Molly. She had always liked him. But he wouldn't see, she is a woman after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“He likes men, John. How couldn't you know?”

“How should I know?”

“The way he looks at you, the way he behaves around you. I always thought ...” John was taken aback; he had no idea.

“I never thought about him that way. I am not gay.”

“You might not be gay but you are bi-curious, I think.” John wanted to say something but closed his mouth again. Greg was probably right and he didn't want to talk about it right now. He knew he had feelings for Sherlock. And he very clearly remembered his prick being rock hard last night touching him.

“OK, would you call Dr Hooper to get her to help us?”

“Yes, right after I have checked this flat for cameras and such.”

“I will look after Sherlock. I had to sedate him before you came over. He was all hysterical, thrashing, screaming, crying. I believe revealing the truth to me was opening the flood gates.” Greg was wondering how bad this truth could be.

Then he started to search the flat and John returned to Sherlock’s side.

***

Greg had found the fourth camera when his mobile dinged. He looked at the display.

_“Do you want to keep your job?”  
MH_

He didn't bother to answer but went to find John. He stood leaning against the frame of Sherlock’s bedroom and just watched him tending to Sherlock.

“Do you still have your weapon, John?” That made him look up.

“Yes, I do. Why?” Greg showed him the text.

“Fuck, Greg. We have to leave. Now.” He packed two bags for Sherlock and him, grabbed also Sherlock’s violin, his watches, everything they could sale for cash.

“I will talk to Molly personally and I will try to withdraw money. I will come with you. We will protect him, no matter what.” Now John's mobile dinged.

_“I will alert Border Patrol and the Homeoffice. Cuba is supposed to be a sunny place.”  
MH_

“Grab Sherlock. Now. We are moving.” Greg threw off the duvet and pulled Sherlock up. He moved about a bit and murmured quietly. He grabbed him and had him over his shoulder in seconds. His hands brushed over his bum and his hair was moving with Greg's walking. John walked behind them watching it. He had no idea where to go and how they could escape Mycroft's surveillance.


	3. On the Run

Greg threw Sherlock on the back-seat of his car. Then they drove out of London. Greg drove and John tried to reach Dr Hooper. After several tries and them being several miles out of London she answered her phone.

“I am not supposed to talk to you two!” John put her on speaker.

“Molly, it's Greg. Please don't hang up. It's for Sherlock.”

“He said you would say so.”

“Who did? Mycroft? Did he threaten you?” There was no reply.

“It's fine, Molly, don't worry. We'll manage.” And he hung up.

“What are we going to do now? John?” He bit his lower lip.

“We should leave the country but I have no idea how.”

“What about the sea? We could leave by boat over the channel.”

“That sounds actually good. Let me think about some old army contacts.”

“OK.” They quietly drove through the night with a sleeping Sherlock on the back-seat.

***

Very slowly Sherlock woke up. He knew he was in a car. He knew at once it wasn't one of Mycroft's, so he hadn't been kidnapped. He smelled John. And he also smelled something else which was familiar. He slowly opened his eyes and saw both John and Greg in the front. He tried to get up into a sitting position. John noticed him moving about and turned around.

“Sherlock, how are you doing?”

“I am thirsty. I need to go to the loo.”

“I will pull over. Go into the bushes.” And Sherlock did as being told. John got out, too. Just in case he would snap again. But nothing happened and he came back. He handed him a bottle with water he brought from Baker Street. Sherlock drank and leant against the car.

“What are we doing here, John? And why is Greg here, too?”

“Do you remember what happened yesterday morning?”

“It's all blurry, John. But it couldn't have been good, am I right?” John snorted.

“Yes, you are right. I called Greg to come over to our place. Mycroft threatened him and also me. We decided to leave with you. I had to drug you yesterday. I am sorry.” Sherlock looked at him and then at Greg. He handed the bottle back to John and turned away.

“I never should have told you. I knew I made a mistake; I was told it would end badly for me and others. I am so sorry, John and Greg. So sorry.” Now Greg came to his side, too.

“No, Sherlock, I am sorry. I am sorry for not having noticed your sorrows. For never having told you that I considered you my friend. For never having told you that I like you a lot. Perhaps you would have come to me earlier if you would have known.”

“Greg, don't blame yourself, please. He always threatened me by harming the people close to me if I won't behave. He told me he would come after all of them if I would ever tell anyone.”

“Why did you let him do these things to you?” Sherlock really thought about it.

“Because he threatened me with harming the people I care about.” He wouldn't look at them.

***

Mycroft paced around in his office. They had gotten Sherlock out of Baker Street. His team had gone in too late. Even though he had threatened both Lestrade and John they left with his baby-brother. He couldn't fucking believe it.

Sherlock had told John about it. Well, he would make him watch them being tortured and he would take care of it himself. He had done so in the past with both Victor Trevor and Sebastian Wilkes. He would do it again. Sherlock needed to behave and he would make him.

He buzzed Anthea and ordered a car to follow the troops.

***

Greg, John, and Sherlock parked in a small forest close to a village near the coast. Greg broke into a cottage and stole some ill-fitting clothes, money and a mobile while the owners were fast asleep. Then he called an old mate and asked for his boat. Then John called someone who owed him a favour and got themselves weapons. Sherlock had no one to call. He looked between Greg and John.

“You are insane. You can't throw away your lives for me. It's useless, senseless, hopeless.”

“No, it's not. It's for you, Sherlock. Both of us can't let happen these things to you anymore.” Sherlock looked between both of them and they returned his sad stare.

“Listen, Sherlock.” Greg started to talk now.

“I never told you how I feel about you. I consider you my friend. And when John told me it was clear what I had to do.” He sighed.

“Since I found you completely drugged and close to death, I really believed I did something good when I returned you to your brother.” Sherlock obviously shuddered.

“It was the normal thing to believe. Don't worry. Everybody believes him. Everybody hates me.”

“That's not true and you know it.” John insisted.

“I know now. I don't know what to say. You two have no idea what you got yourselves into.”

“I am a soldier and Greg here is a police officer. Don't worry about us. We will cope somehow.” John received a text message with some coordinates. He grinned.

“Let's head for the boat.” John texted these to another friend to pick up the weapons close by. Then they threw the mobile away. They had already changed into the clothes Greg had stolen. They left their old ones behind.  
Sherlock hesitated when John held up jeans and tee for him. He looked disgusted.

“You can't be serious, John! Really!” John waved the clothes in front of his face.

“Yes, I am. It is for your, for our, safety. Please change, Sherlock. We don't know if there are any bugs in our clothes. Please?” He quietly begged his friend. Sherlock sighed and undressed. The new jeans were a bit too short and the shirt was very wide.

“I look ridiculous!” Greg looked him up and down and then down himself.

“So, do I. And so, does John. We can get new clothes later.” With these words, he collected their old stuff and piled it up. And then he burnt it. Sherlock looked as he was about to cry when his designer shirt, bespoke trousers and jacket burnt to ashes but then he just ruffled his hair and turned away.

“OK, let's move on then. It will be about five miles walk until we met my contact with the weapons.” Greg watched John and then said:

“Yes, as soon as we have them, we will be close to the coast and board the boat. We will go to France and hide there.”

“I have contacts in France. We won't be lost.” They looked at each other. Then they started to walk.


	4. France

They reached the boat and Greg started the engine. John and Sherlock went downstairs. Sherlock was getting even paler than normal.

“So, it is not only planes?” Sherlock shook his head and carefully sat down on the floor.

“No.” He swallowed thickly feeling his saliva pooling in his mouth. He felt awful. John saw this and handed over a rubbish bin which sat between Sherlock’s knees. He bent his head over it.

“I am sorry ...” John looked worried.

“Don't be. You did everything for me. I don't know how I could ever repay you. Or Greg. Just go upstairs and leave me be.”

“Promise me to call when you need us!” John asked and left him alone. He went upstairs to find Greg behind the wheel of the boat.

“How is he?”

“He is throwing up. He wanted to be alone.”

“What are we going to do, John? Really? How could we end up like this?”

“I don't want to be anyplace else, Greg. I need to protect him. What he told me about his brother, it makes me want to kill him. Of course, I know I will never get that close to him. But I still feel the desire to do so.”

“I still can't believe it. I never thought.” They both looked into the darkness.

***

Sherlock retched and threw up into the bin. He felt disgusting and he had a bitter taste in his mouth. Finally, he was able to get up. He emptied the bin into the loo and looked around for something to drink. He found a cooler with bottled water. He gulped down a whole bottle and felt a bit better. He didn't want to be alone and walked upstairs. Both John and Greg turned around when he approached.

“Sherlock, are you better?” Greg asked.

“Yes, I do, thank you. I had some water.” John moved closer and felt his pulse. It was still a bit fast, but OK. John's thumb stroked over his hand and Sherlock smiled. He felt protected, safe.

“Where are we going?”

“France.” John said while rubbing over his arms.

“If I am not mistaken an old army buddy has a cottage close to the channel coast. I will try to establish contact.”

“Sounds good.” Greg nodded. His hands held the wheel and he navigated through the night.

“What can I do?” Sherlock asked.

“I would like to hear it, Sherlock.” Greg said.

“I want to hear your story from the beginning. I think it might help you when you let more people know about it.”

“The last time I told John I went into shock. I don't want that to happen in this small confined space.” John shook his head.

“I don't think it will happen again in this form. You were telling someone for the very first time, Sherlock. That's different. The more you talk about it the better you will be.” He thought about it for some seconds and then leant against the door. John took over the wheel and Greg stood close to Sherlock who started to talk. It ripped John's heart apart the same way it had before. He fought the tears back because he didn't want to show weakness. He needed to be strong. He needed to stay in combat modus and he steered the boat through the night.

***

Greg listened to Sherlock and didn't interrupt him once. He was shell-shocked, too. And he knew he had made the right decision coming along. When Sherlock was done, he sighed.

“This is the most horrible story I have ever heard. I would never have thought. I mean I never liked your brother but I wouldn't have thought ...” Sherlock sadly said:

“Nobody would, Greg.”

“I just wished I had known earlier. I could have helped you.”

“No, you couldn’t. You two are in grave danger. You have no idea.”

“I think we do. He already threatened us via texts.” Sherlock looked stricken.

“He did?”

“Guantanamo.” John stated and Greg added.

“My job.” He looked into the dark.

“Which I have already lost, I suppose.” Sherlock tore at his hair.

“This is all my fault. This is insane. Turn around, John. I will go to Mycroft and beg.” John looked over his shoulder.

“Beg for what exactly?”

“Beg for your lives, of course. I can't have you lose everything just because of me. What happened to ...” He stopped talking and shook his head.

“What happened to whom, Sherlock?” Greg asked looking straight into his eyes.

“First to Sebastian at university and later to Victor. He made me watch.” He started to shiver and tremble and Greg moved closer.

“Watch what, Sherlock? Tell us. We need to know everything.” He sobbed.

“He had me tied up and watch them being tortured. He did that himself. At the end he made some cuts over their penises and testicles and warned them off. I never saw them again. I heard of Victor's suicide though.” Greg wasn't sure if he could touch him now but he just tried. Sherlock let him and relaxed into his arms.

“Sherlock, we are no students. John is an experienced fighter and so am I of some sorts.”

“He can activate everything he wants to get to you. He is probably already on his way.”

“So are we.” John said and gestured to Greg to take over the wheel again. He let go of Sherlock and John pulled Sherlock close.

“You are not going back to him. He will kill you.”

“He will kill you. I don't want that.” Sherlock struggled to get out of his grip but John wouldn't let go.

“He won't kill us. Listen, you have memories you need to tell. At least me. It will make you feel better.”

Sharp pictures came to life into Sherlock’s head. He felt himself being restrained on that chair again with his eyes taped open. He saw Sebastian hanging over a saw-horse. His wrists were tied to rings in the floor and so were his ankles. Mycroft used the cane on him. His screams came out muffled since a huge ball-gag was stuffed into his mouth. His back and legs were bleeding and he was whimpering and wailing.

He heard himself beg and had been gagged, too. Mycroft had grabbed Sebastian's hair and pulled him up making him look at Sherlock. Then the last blow hit right between his legs and he lost his consciousness.

***

He found himself crying and wailing on the ground with John close trying to hold him.

“Sherlock, you have to come down again. Sherlock!” He shook him. Spit flew from his mouth but he was able to focus on John. He dug his fingers into his skin and tried to breathe. Somehow, he made it and finally, he came down again.

“John ...” He was shivering. Greg was still behind the wheel but he looked between the sea and John and Sherlock on the floor.

“Sherlock, you are safe with us. We all are safe.” Sherlock stood again and pulled John up, too.

“For now, we might.” He was still holding on to John's wrist and he let him.

“I think we are coming close to the coast. Check the coordinates, John, will you?” John checked the monitor and saw that Greg was right. He nodded.

“Get ready, Sherlock.” Greg steered the boat into the little harbour. John carefully checked their surroundings with night-goggles. There was nothing.

“We were supposed to meet right here.” Greg looked around, too.

“Maybe he is late?” John shook his head.

“No, he never was. Let's go. We have to leave here quickly.” Soon after they had reached the fields and hid inside the ditches. There was some commotion where they came from.

“We made it. They were too late. They must have intercepted our communication.”

“We have to move on, John. Sherlock, how are you doing?”

“I am fine, Greg, don't worry.”

“John, do you know where the cottage of your friend is?” He shook his head.

“No idea. I think we have to steal a car and move south. I suggest Marseille. Lots of criminals to hide between.”

“Good idea, from there we can reach Africa.” Sherlock looked from John to Greg and back.

“This is insane. Africa? What are we supposed to do there? I just have to go back and try to convince Mycroft not to kill you.” Greg looked at him.

“No, it's too late for that. It always was. John would end up in Guantanamo. And I? Pentonville, probably having fun with everybody I have ever arrested. No, Sherlock, we have to keep going.”

“Greg is right. We have moved too far. We will find a place to stay. Please, Sherlock, just keep going.”

“It's entirely my fault. I never should have told you, John. He was right in the end, he was.”

“No, it is not your fault.” John said.

“It was my decision to help you.”

“I am a grown-up, too, Sherlock. This just can't happen to you. It's inhuman.”

“He always said everything had to be beaten into me. That I can't behave properly. That I am worthless and had to be shown my place.” He slowly shook his head.

“Once I made it outside and escaped everything by taking drugs. It helped for a while until he took me back in. For days on end, he held me like a prisoner. I suffered cold turkey. I thought I had to die. I wanted to die. And I really wanted to die when he started to punish me. Not only that he raped me. He whipped me, beat me, spanked me. He tied me into almost impossible positions. I was blind. I was gagged. He made me wallow in my own soil. But I would suffer through this all over again if you two were safe.” 

John and Greg looked at each other.

“If you return to him now everything we did has been for nothing.” Greg whispered.

“You two just took me and ran away. I had no choice. I could tell him.” Sherlock shrugged.

“No, I won't let this happen, Sherlock.” Sherlock looked into John's eyes.

“What would you do to stop me? Restrain me?” Ice-cold spoken. It made John shiver.

“If necessary, yes, I would.”

“And tell me, it's for my own good?”

“It is for your own good.” Silence. Sherlock just went mentally away, he logged out. Greg looked at John.

“Do you think ...” John shook his head.

“I thought it was the right thing to say ...”

“You probably threatened him with the same things which had already been done to him.”

“I know, Greg. Fuck. But I don't know how I could hold him back from running away.”

“He wants to protect you, John.”

“Us.” They looked at each other and Greg pointed at Sherlock who just sat there staring into nothing.

“We have to do something...” Greg felt utterly helpless.

***

Somehow, they reached Marseilles. They sold one of the watches John had taken and were given instructions on how to reach the coast of Africa. Greg spoke French so no one was able to cheat them. John simply followed him and Sherlock followed John.  
It was too late to go back, even he had realised that. Greg coloured John's hair and they all changed into rural clothes covering their faces with scarves. Once out of the city they got horses and rode further away.

For days on end, they were running away. They never saw any helicopters or military. They actually felt rather safe.

After weeks they reached a lake in the middle of nowhere and they needed to cross it. The found someone with a boat and paid him to take them to the other side.

The moment they had reached the middle of the lake, helicopters approached and attacked. They jumped overboard and swam for their life. The boat sunk and with them the guy who had rowed them. John pulled Sherlock underwater. Greg had disappeared from sight. They had to reach shore and get into the ditches there. They had no weapons and had no other choice.

Soldiers jumped out of the helicopter and followed them. John managed to get Sherlock safe. They were hiding and weren't found. They had to watch how they grabbed Greg though.

“We have to help him...” Sherlock whispered but John shook his head.

“We can't help him. We have no weapons. We don't know where they are taking him. We have to keep our heads down.” John whispered back and Sherlock pressed his face into the earth. He cried.

Later the soldiers built a camp. They stayed and two more helicopters with more soldiers arrived. They would soon search the whole area.

John thought about guerrilla tactics learnt from the Afghan rebels. He dangerously grinned. He would fight until the end. He wouldn't give up. He would teach Sherlock how to fight.

They would survive.

Together.


End file.
